


be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking

by reysrose



Series: Firelillies [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Badass Katara (Avatar), Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Found Family, Generational Trauma, Hurt Aang, Hurt Sokka, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e18-21 Sozin's Comet, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Last Agni Kai (Avatar), Toph Beifong and Zuko are Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:59:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reysrose/pseuds/reysrose
Summary: Stolen moments after Zuko's Agni Kai and Ozai's defeat.
Relationships: Aang & Katara (Avatar), Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Hakoda & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko, the gaang - Relationship
Series: Firelillies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033284
Comments: 39
Kudos: 367





	1. Hakoda

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nyxierose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/gifts).



> Taking prompts always @reyshxpe on Tumblr!

Logically, Hakoda knows that Zuko is in rough shape, because his daughter hasn’t left the room the boy is in for longer than a few minutes in two days, but he isn’t expecting what he sees. He’d been alright when the fleet had gotten back to Caldera City, the day of the comet, but he’d gone downhill quickly, nearly collapsing into Katara’s arms at their first meal in the palace. Hakoda knocks gently on the door to the kid’s room, then nudges it open when a soft voice tells him he can come in. 

Zuko is sprawled, sweating, on a massive bed, mumbling in his sleep. His head is in Katara’s lap, her fingers stroking his slick tangled hair back from his face, his scar standing out in stark relief against his pallid skin. Toph is curled up with her legs crossed, frowning down at Zuko’s tense face. His daughter looks up at him and holds a finger to her lips, the little earthbender giving him a well directed glare to back up Katara’s instructions. He’s shocked to see that Sokka, Suki, and Aang aren’t in the room too, but he wrinkles his nose when he realizes how stuffy the room is. 

“He just fell asleep again,” Katara whispers to him, as Hakoda crouches next to the kid and presses the back of a hand to his undamaged cheek. He’s hot even for a firebender, and he jerks away from Hakoda’s touch, one of his hands squeezing at something. Hakoda sees a glimpse of blue ribbon, crumpled and damp from the heat of Zuko’s palm, and raises an eyebrow at Katara. The Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, soon to be Firelord, is holding onto Kya’s betrothal necklace like he’s a child and it’s a baby blanket. He’s also holding onto Katara like he thinks she’s going to disappear. 

“He’s been crying in his sleep,” she murmurs, “and screaming for me. It helps him, I think. He keeps jolting awake thinking I’m dead. Which I would be, if it weren’t for him. I don’t think he remembers much after he took that lightning.” In her arms, Zuko whimpers and his head turns, golden eyes opening into slits. When he realizes Hakoda is in the room he lets out a sound that would be a scream, if he had the strength for it, and tries to make himself small. Hakoda kneels next to the bed, palms facing him, and Zuko relaxes a tiny bit.

“Dad, I think you should go. Zuko, it’s okay, it’s just my dad.”

“Come on, Sparky,” Toph mutters, squeezing Zuko’s clenched fist, “You know Hakoda.”

“I’m sorry,” Zuko rasps, eyes definitely not seeing him as the right person, “Father, I’m sorry, please don’t-”

“Dad, now!” Katara yelps, as Zuko starts to scream. He unclenches his fists to grasp at his scar, like it’s the new injury and not the old one, and Katara’s necklace tumbles onto the sheets. Toph huddles closer to him, taking the hand on his face and pressing it to her heart. 

The last thing Hakoda sees as he leaves the room is Katara tugging Zuko higher into her lap, cradling his head against her chest, pressing her mouth to the top of his head. The Fire Lord wraps thin arms around Katara’s waist and clings to her like a lifeline. Hakoda looks from their embrace to Kya’s betrothal necklace on silken red sheets. 

“Huh,” he mumbles to himself, “guess I should have seen something weird coming out of all this.”

A few hours later Katara calls him back into the room. She looks completely exhausted, deep circles under her eyes and she curls into his arms when he opens them, head on his chest.

“Toph is sleeping,” his 15 year old daughter mumbles into his shirt, tears leaking into the fabric of his tunic, “And Iroh is so busy, and I can’t leave him, I can’t, I can’t-” and then she sags against him, sobbing like her heart is breaking, sobbing like she hasn’t since Kya died. All he can do is hold her, and gently walk her backwards into Zuko’s room. The boy is curled on his side around Toph, one of his arms draped over her. His entire torso is corseted tightly in bandages that look fresh, but pinkish fluid has already seeped through. There’s a melted but still partially frozen cloth on his forehead. 

“Get some rest,” he tells Katara, who’s still crying, even as she pulls away from him and crawls onto the bed and lays on her side facing Zuko. Her thin fingered hand curls around his broader one, her nails tracing his callouses. 

“My necklace,” she whispers, feeling around the sheets for it and handing it to Hakoda, “If he wakes up and he’s upset, and for some reason you don’t wake me up, give him my necklace.”

“I can do that,” whispers Hakoda, as Katara takes the cloth from Zuko’s head and re-freezes it before placing it back on.

“Please,” Katara mumbles, her eyes closing, her hand clinging tighter to Zuko’s, “Dad, please keep an eye on him.” 

“I will,” Hakoda tells her, stroking her hair back from her tired face and wiping her tears away, “I’ll take care of him, Katara.”

“Thank you, daddy,” his daughter murmurs, and Hakoda is reminded, not for the first time, that they’re all children. 

Two hours into his watch, Zuko’s fevered golden eyes open, rolling around the room.

“Katara,” he groans, “Katara, where’s-”

“Hey, hey,” Hakoda murmurs, showing the kid his hands before tentatively resting one on his forehead, feeling the heat rolling off of him. Zuko’s eyelids flutter before he starts searching for Katara again, whimpering low in his throat, and Hakoda presses the necklace into his hand.

“There we go,” he says to him, watching as Zuko’s breathing starts to slow down and his fingers start rubbing over the carving like it’s hypnotizing him. His head lolls to the side and his face relaxes when he sees Katara asleep across from him, the hand not holding the necklace splaying out on her ribs. He’s asleep again in seconds, and Hakoda leans back in his chair, closing his eyes for a brief second, breathing in the quiet and the faint smell of ozone still clinging to Zuko and Katara. 

Children. Children won the war. His children, the two he knew he had and the four he’s stumbled into. 

“I always wanted more kids,” he says to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara tries to be less terrified about losing Zuko, but Zuko doesn't make it easy

When Zuko wakes up he’s not sure where he is or how he got there, just that he doesn’t feel well. Someone is stroking through his hair gently, meaning his topknot has been taken down. Maybe he’s in bed? His chest hurts. His chest really hurts, low in his diaphragm where his injury is and higher up under his ribs. Zuko moans and forces his eyes open.

“Morning, sunshine,” Katara says flatly. Zuko rolls his eyes around to try and figure out where he is. The hallway in front of his office swims into focus. 

“Did I pass out?” he rasps, lungs burning. He coughs miserably, suddenly, and then his mouth is full of mucus. Oh. That’s why his chest hurts. That’s why it’s been hurting, he remembers, because he’s been coughing and hasn’t told Katara yet. 

“Yes, you did. Luckily someone saw you on the carpet and came and found me. You’re feverish again, Zuko.” Katara says. She’s annoyed with him. She’s annoyed with him, and Zuko is exhausted and sick and miserable and Katara is annoyed with him-

“Hey, hey. Tell me why you’re crying.”

Katara’s voice is soft, and her fingers are cool against his wet cheeks and burning forehead. Zuko cries harder. He feels awful, and Katara is being too nice to him. He tries to pull away from her comforting hands and lift himself from her lap but his weak limbs won’t cooperate. He’s stuck in her lap, tears streaking his face, until he’s strong enough to move. 

“You’re alright,” she whispers. Zuko chokes on a weak spluttering cough and it’s so shockingly painful that he stops crying.

“Sorry,” he slurs, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s alright.”

“You were mad at me,” he mumbles. He feels like his fever is going higher and higher and it’s starting to make his eyes itch. 

“I’m just frustrated,” she murmurs, “not with you. Well, a little bit with you. You shouldn’t be working at all, and you’re still healing.” 

“I have to,” he says, “help me up.”

“I will but we’re going straight to bed. You’re burning up and I am very worried about that cough.”

“Had it for a few days,” Zuko rambles tiredly, “Didn’t wanna tell you you’d sic Uncle on me.”

“Okay,” Katara says, “You’re going to bed, and I am talking to your uncle and your council, because if you keep working like this you’re going to fucking die.” 

“Shit,” Zuko says absently while his vision greys out as Katara helps him to his feet,

“Yeah, shit,” Katara says. She helps him into his bed and tugs the blankets up over him, kissing him gently. He falls asleep to her opening his robe to get at his injuries, her hands cool and delicate against his heated skin. 

When he wakes up, he’s not acting Firelord anymore. 

“You WHAT?!” He cries hoarsely, trying to shoot up from his bed. He’s frustratingly weak and he can’t, so Katara’s arm across his shoulders is completely unnecessary. Toph cries in alarm when he does it, something about his heart rate, but Zuko is too focused on the fact that one of his lungs is trying to exit his body to care. 

“You’re alright, you’re okay. Deep breaths,” Katara is murmuring in his ear. His chest HURTS, not just from coughing and his still painful burn but from something else. Cooling water is being massaged into his chest and the agony ends. He curls into Katara’s arms with a low moan of pain, pushing his face into her stomach. 

“You passed out because you had a small heart attack, nothing serious but enough to do a little more damage than I’d like to see,” Katara says gently, “And you’ve got pneumonia again. You need to rest, and you can’t rest and run a country at the same time. We need to get you better, hmm?”

“I can rest when I manage to withdraw all the troops-” Katara’s hand covers his mouth to shut him up. Zuko licks her out of spite and Katara wipes it on his face. 

“Your uncle has it under control,” she tells him, and Zuko pulls his face from the smooth linen of Katara’s shirt and looks around the room. Toph has her feet firmly on the floor, face white, eyes red rimmed. She won’t even turn her head toward him when he weakly calls her name. Hakoda is leaning against Zuko’s desk, and his uncle sits in a chair next to the bed. Zuko reaches for him, ashamed of his weakness but too exhausted to care, and Iroh squeezes his hand. Zuko realizes how badly he’s shaking. 

“I don’t feel well,” he mumbles, turning his face back into Katara’s belly. Her hand settles on his back and rubs soothing circles. Zuko coughs, and coughs some more. When gunk comes up into his mouth Katara hands him a basin to spit it in. He swims in and out of consciousness, waking up when things hurt or when he’s thirsty. 

At some point while he fades between awake and asleep, everyone but Katara leaves the room. When he feels like he’s strong enough to open his eyes, he realizes he’s sitting up against her chest, head on her shoulder. Katara is crying.

“Oh,” he slurs, “Don’t- don’t do that.”

“You’re an idiot,” she snaps, tears still streaming down her face, “A giant idiot.”

“Yeah.” he says stupidly, because he’s very feverish and very much unsure that this is real and not a dream. 

“I can’t lose you,” she says quietly, sniffling, “I don’t give a shit about the Fire Nation needing you, I need you.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles on instinct before remembering what she’d said about a heart attack and another lung infection. Zuko shuts up.

“You’re basically on death’s door,” she yelps. Zuko is too confused to comfort her, but he presses his face into the crook of her neck.

“I need you to let your uncle run the country for a while and take better care of yourself,” she tells him, one hand coming up to cup the back of his neck. Zuko sighs into her soft skin and goes a little boneless, exhausted to the point of collapse yet again, “For me. I’m calling selfish girlfriend rights.”

“Mmmmkay,” he mumbles, “For you.”

“Get some more sleep,” Katara whispers. He’s out before he can even process it. 

Two weeks into Iroh’s tenure as regent, King Kuei decides to make a visit to the Fire Nation. “As a sign of goodwill,” his letter reads. Katara rolls her eyes when she sees it. As a sign of opulence and a reminder that he’s still awaiting an official declaration of reparations even though the war has barely ended and the actual Firelord can’t sit up without her hands around his arms or cradling his back most days. 

“I have to at least welcome him,” Zuko rasps hoarsely, curling onto his side to cough weakly. He’s doing better, a lot better, but his lungs are still sticky with mucus and Katara cannot beat back his fever permanently, so she’s hesitant to let him out of bed. She smooths his hair back, grimacing at the heat radiating from his pale skin. His cheeks are red with fever and he’s been refusing to eat today. 

“You do not,” Katara says, “That’s why we have a regent in place. Your job right now is to recover, and you’re barely doing that.” 

“Toph said my heart sounds fine,” Zuko sulks, pushing himself to sitting with shaking arms. He leans against the headboard, sounding horribly winded, and then he starts to cough. Katara presses a linen handkerchief to his mouth until he spits into it, then palms his cheek as he sucks in a breath that wheezes somewhere in his lower chest. He looks exhausted, even though he’d been asleep less than 20 minutes ago. His recovery is agonizingly slow, and Katara knows he’s frustrated. At the same time, she thinks it’s a relief that he’s not working, because he’s been getting migraines almost every day and having small seizures frequently. He complains of muscle and joint pain they can only ascribe to the neurological impact of being electrocuted. The Royal Physician thinks that those particular issues will be chronic, no matter how healthy Zuko gets. Given how twisted up his qi is, in a way Katara knows will never be undone, she agrees. 

“I can’t look weak,” Zuko grunts, “Not this early into my reign. It already looks bad that Uncle took over for me. Katara, I have to go.”

“You can barely breathe,” she snaps, “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Help me up,” Zuko says, “I haven’t washed my hair in a week.”

Zuko barely makes it out of the grand hall where the welcome is being hosted before he collapses. Toph lets out a shrill yelp and the blood drains from Zuko’s face. He sways and starts to fall forward, but her dad catches him. Katara expects him to flinch away or struggle against Hakoda’s grip, but to her shock Zuko presses his face into Hakoda’s shirt, coughs and fatigue shaking his back. Her father rubs his back, cupping Zuko’s head against his chest.

“You’re alright, kid.” he murmurs, as Katara ushers them to Zuko’s room with some urgency. Zuko is starting to look almost green, and he’s tossing his head in Hakoda’s arms. Katara has spent enough time nursing him back to health to know what those signs of discomfort mean. They’re just barely in the Royal Wing before Zuko throws up. It’s just water and yellowish green bile, but it’s all over him and her dad. 

“I knew this would throw him back into complete exhaustion,” she snarls, bending the puke up and into a potted plant. Zuko is just conscious enough to be embarrassed about what just happened and he’s struggling in her father’s arms.

“Please,” he rasps, voice barely a whisper, “I’m sorry-” Hakoda cups his cheek gently and keeps Zuko against him.

“His fever feels higher,” her dad says, as all the fight bleeds out of Zuko and he goes limp against Hakoda. Now that he’s less nauseous, his face is flushed with heat.

“Not surprised it went up,” Katara murmurs, as they enter Zuko’s chambers, “Throwing up is one of the symptoms of a high, high fever and he’s overextended himself.”

Her father places Zuko in a bed and Katara starts stripping his ceremonial robes off. Zuko’s eyes are heavy, and he’s got one hand wrapped around her dad’s wrist as Hakoda rubs Zuko’s unscarred cheek and sweat soaked neck. 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko slurs as Katara takes his topknot down and brushes his hair out. Katara presses her mouth to his forehead. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers to him, rubbing the soft skin under his bleary eye, “you rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Zuko spends the next two days in and out of consciousness, his body beaten down by the hour he spent out of bed. Katara comes back from a meeting with Iroh on day three to find Zuko at least slightly awake, sitting up against a pile of pillows and taking thin broth off a spoon. Toph is curled up in the bed with him, running her little fingers through his hair. 

“Katara,” he mumbles, “missed you.” He’s so weak and so earnest that her heart squeezes in her chest. He offers his chapped, burning mouth for a kiss and she gives him one, sighing against his mouth. Zuko slumps forward into her arms and Katara clambers up onto the plush mattress and takes him into her arms. Zuko’s come around hers and squeeze, and she’s delighted to find some strength in his previously limp grip. It’s nowhere close to where he was just over a month ago, before everything happened, but it's an improvement. Zuko presses his cheek to the hollow of her throat, eyelids fluttering. Her father sets the bowl of broth aside and quietly leaves the room, Toph trailing after him. Katara and Zuko are alone and Katara lets out a deep breath and focuses on the feeling of Zuko’s bare skin against her, the rise and fall of his too thin chest. She strokes her fingers through his tangled hair. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks him, unwrapping the bandages around his chest. His burn is healing nicely, but it’s leaving a nasty scar. His fever is barely existent now, and his lungs sound better. She still can’t get him to eat regularly, but the fact that her father did is quite possibly miraculous. 

“Shitty,” Zuko whispers into her skin. He’s starting to list toward his mattress so they lay down. Katara positions herself on her back and coaxes Zuko’s head onto her chest. Zuko lets out a quiet, contented sound and wraps around her. They haven’t slept apart since his injury and the idea of it makes Katara’s stomach clench in terror. 

“Whaswrong?” Zuko mumbles into her shirt. Katara strokes his hair back. It’s silky smooth and smells like jasmine and cloves. 

“I feel like no matter what I do, I’m so close to losing you,” she admits, running a hand across his sweat dampened collarbones. Zuko nods muzzily and presses closer to her, if that’s even possible. Katara relishes his warmth against her and the thud of his heart in her own ribcage. 

“M’not goin anywhere,” he slurs.

“You better not, she says into his soft hair. Zuko presses his mouth to her skin. 

“I won’t.”


	3. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko kisses Katara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally for Zutara week but then I realized it needed to be in here for the installment I am currently writing to make any sense.

Zuko kisses her first.

It’s a few days after Azula’s lightning strike, and the infected burn on his chest has caused a systemic infection. His lungs are fluidy and he’s coughing almost constantly. Katara can’t bring herself to leave him, even though he’s asleep most of the day and not exactly lucid for the rest.

He’s awake, cradled against her chest, sweaty temple resting against Katara’s bare shoulder as she rubs the back of his neck. Zuko coughs and spits in the tissue Katara presses against his mouth, groaning and nestling closer to her.

“M’freezing,” he slurs into her collarbone, lips brushing delicately against her skin. Katara shivers at the innocent touch, tugging gently at his dark hair.

“You’re burning up. Just fever chills, Zuko.”

“Want another blanket,” he mumbles, rolling his head back to look up at her with glazed golden eyes. He blinks slowly up at her and she thumbs his cheekbone, rubbing away a glistening tear. He doesn’t seem to know he’s crying, and Katara thinks it’s probably the pain. He’s nearly due another round of painkillers, the strong ones that do more for him than she can.

“Can’t have another,” she tells him, “I don’t want you getting overheated.”

“Why am I so sick,” he asks her. He asks that every time he wakes up longer than a few minutes, his memory fragmented with pain and feverish infection. Katara strokes his hair back and reaches for the bowl of water on the bedside table, bending a stream into her hands and freezing a fine layer of ice over his pulse points.

“What do you remember, Zuko?”

“Azula,” he mumbles, “She attacked you.”

“And you saved me from her lightning,” Katara reminds him gently, “but now you’re injured and we’re trying to get you better.”

Zuko nods sluggishly, lifting his head from her shoulder and trying and failing to focus on her face.

“You’re okay,” he whispers.

“I’m okay, thanks to you,” she agrees, as Zuko presses his forehead to hers. Katara leans into the touch as he starts to slump into her chest again, thinking he’s going to pass out.

Zuko’s hot, dry lips brush against her mouth in a tentative kiss and Katara widens her eyes, parting her mouth. He pulls away before she can respond and he’s blushing.

“Sorry,” he rasps, and then he’s coughing, slumping back onto the mattress to get away from her, to give her space. Katara cups the back of his head and gets him on his side, pillowing his head on her thigh until he’s drawing in reedy, weak breaths but not coughing anymore. She slides her fingers through his silky hair again and reaches for the medicines.

“Sorry,” he mumbles again, “I’m- sorry, you don’t have to stay.”

“Zuko,” she murmurs, “It’s okay. You just surprised me is all.”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says, as Katara places a few drops of opium on his tongue and follows it with a few swallows of basil tea. Zuko wrinkles his nose at the taste and yawns, clearly falling asleep.

“I’m glad you did,” she whispers. Zuko smiles, lopsided and goofy and barely lucid. Katara places another thin layer of ice on his temples and smiles back down at him, drawing a line down the bridge of his nose with her index finger until his eyes close.

“I hope you do it again,” she murmurs, once she’s sure he’s asleep, “when you’re better.”


	4. Suki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko's heart gives out after the Agni Kai.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry kids! Been a while. Please enjoy some Suki and Zuko bonding.

The second healing session on Zuko’s chest is just as panicked and urgent as the first.

“He seemed fine,” Katara half sobs, hunched over Zuko desperately. Sokka is cradling Zuko’s upper body to his chest, tears streaking his dirty face. Suki kneels next to them and takes one of Zuko’s limp, cold hands in hers. Toph is hyperventilating, and when Suki looks back at her Iroh has her in his arms, Toph clinging to him with her face pressed into his neck. Aang isn’t in the room, he’s talking to the Fire Sages about something Ozai related, and Suki can’t help but feel at least a little thankful for that. Aang has been through so much in the past 24 hours. They all have, but Aang took out the fucking Fire Lord

“He’s cold, Katara,” she says, lacing her fingers with Zuko’s lax ones.

“He’s dying,” Katara snarls, and tears Zuko’s bandages with Sokka’s knife. The wound makes Suki gag. It’s fresh and raw, like a gutted fish, oozing clear fluids and-

“Fuck,” Sokka gasps out, “How’d it get infected so fast?” 

Because the burn on Zuko’s chest that spirals out in fragmented tissue damage and Lichtenberg figures is already inflamed and clogged with pus and half congealed, brownish blood. Katara presses water directly to it and Zuko’s golden eyes fly open with a scream. Suki throws her weight across his legs when he tries to buck up. 

“Get Toph out of here,” she orders, “and do not let Aang come in. They don’t need to see this.” 

Zuko screams again, and with a jolt of nausea Suki realizes that Katara is bloodbending. Zuko’s body is rigid, his chest throbbing unnaturally as Katara forces his heart back into a proper rhythm. There are tears streaming down her face, and Sokka’s. Suki feels her own hot tears slip down her cheeks as she holds Zuko down. Zuko’s screams taper into low, groaning howls and Suki realizes that he’s worn out his throat. 

“I know,” she soothes, reaching up to stroke his hair and squeezing his hand, “I know, Zuko, but you need to relax and let her help you.” 

“It hurts,” he howls, shockingly coherent for a brutal second before he slips back into pained moaning. 

“I know,” she tries desperately to calm him as his agony reaches a fever pitch. Katara’s fist tightens and Zuko goes rigid from the neck down. 

“I’m sorry,” Katara sobs, “I’m so sorry, Zuko, I’m so sorry, just focus on Suki and Sokka. I’m almost done.” 

“Katara, he’s going to pass out,” Sokka warns sharply. Zuko is hyperventilating against her boyfriend’s tunic sleeve, face milk white and soaked in sweat. 

“Almost done,” she says sharply, and in seconds Zuko goes limp. The wound is still infected and badly, but Zuko is breathing evenly, and some heat is coming back into his fingers.

“Okay,” Katara breathes, “His heart is beating right again. It’s still damaged, but it shouldn’t try to kill him again.” She sits up from where she was curled over Zuko and sways dangerously, slumping against Sokka. Suki gingerly takes Zuko’s limp form from Sokka as he goes to support Katara’s weight while she breathes heavily into his shirt. Zuko’s eyes blink up at her a couple times, the gold shining with fever.

“Suki,” he rasps, almost silently, “it hurts.”

“I know,” she murmurs, carding her fingers through his sweat soaked hair, “we’ll get you something for the pain soon. Katara?”

“Right,” Katara slurs, “Sokka, can you-”

Sokka presses a kiss to his sister’s head and hobbles to the door of the dining room. Katara leans over Zuko and presses a hand to his sweaty forehead. Zuko leans into her touch and his eyes close, head tilting back on Suki’s shoulder. 

“You’re burning up,” Katara mumbles, “You need basil. Willowbark-” she yawns wide, jaw cracking. 

“You,” Suki says, “need rest, Katara.” 

Iroh carries his nephew back to his chambers, Suki and Katara trailing them. Katara is leaning on Suki heavily, head bobbing. Bringing Zuko back from the brink had completely sapped her of all her energy, and Suki winds an arm around her waist. Katara is still crying silently, tears dripping on Suki’s shoulder. Zuko lets out a pained cry and Katara’s wobbly head shoots up, her breathing getting fast and heavy. Suki cups her cheek, guiding her head back to her shoulder.

“I have to go to him,” Katara slurs, as Iroh deposits Zuko on his bed. Sokka limps over to the dresser serving as Zuko’s medicine stash, carefully measuring out dosages according to the sheet the royal physician had affixed to the mirror. Zuko moans as Suki ushers Katara onto the bed next to him and then tucks a blanket around her. She pulls the sheets up to Zuko’s waist and gently tugs off his open shirt with Iroh’s help. Katara is already asleep, curling toward Zuko instinctively. Zuko, with a look of intense concentration in his bleary and unfocused golden eyes, reaches for her hand and laces their fingers before growing rigid, eyes rolling back in his head. 

“Oh-” Sokka says, and then he’s there with the medication, a tincture for the tremors open and ready. He places a few drops of it in Zuko’s mouth as he shakes minutely, and the shakes stop. Zuko looks up at Suki.

“I-” his eyes shut and he swallows hard. Sokka comes over with a glass of murky water and Suki takes it as Iroh rummages around for fresh bandages in Zuko’s night chest. Suki slides onto the giant bed and gets Zuko to sitting and lets him flop back against her chest. He nestles his sweltering head against her neck and whimpers as Sokka forces him to drink the glass down. Suki wraps her arms around his middle and leans her cheek on his head. 

“Shhhhh,” she murmurs, as Iroh changes his bandages, and Sokka gets a wet cloth and a basin of cool water for his fever, and they both leave to console Aang and Toph. Zuko ends up laying down his head in her lap, holding one of her cool hands to his face and groaning near silently in pain. He’s getting heavier against her, head drooping against her thigh, and the grip on her hand is going slack.

“Suki,” he slurs, “don’t go.”

“I am not going anywhere, Zuko.”

“Don’t leave. Everyone leaves,” he rambles, half delirious from fever and half delirious from exhaustion. Suki begins to weave her fingers through his sweaty hair.

“Nobody is leaving you,” she whispers, watching as his hypervigilant, feverish golden eyes droop closer and closer to shut, “Get some rest, sweetheart.”

“M not one of the kids,” he mumbles, “Don’t have to baby me.”

“Well, I’m gonna anyway,” Suki says, and then she starts to sing. 

Zuko is asleep before the end of the first verse.


End file.
